Five sessions in, and Aoyama Mio thought she finally understood why "Relaxation Salon Mist" earned those glowing reviews. A fifth-floor sanctuary of chamomile steam and white walls, a receptionist whose smile never quite reaches her eyes, a therapist whose skilled, expressionless hands always know exactly where it hurts—and exactly where it tickles.
But today's "special course" is different. Kiryu's fingers find every weak point with inhuman precision, and the laughter it tears from her feels l
Tickle Esthetician: The Fifth Treatment Table - Special Course — Cold Metal Binding Your Limbs, and Fingers That Steal Your Breath
The mixed-use building behind the station stayed dim even under the afternoon sun. Beer crates were stacked in front of the izakaya on the first floor, and a clerk moved busily among them. Calls from touts and music leaking from some shop echoed through the narrow alley.
Aoyama Mio stopped in front of the elevator. Her fingertips were still trembling slightly.
How many days had it been since that day? Since the night she'd read the copy of the contract, Mio had found herself recalling the words of Article Seven every night. "During treatment, strong stimulation may be applied. Additionally, as part of the treatment, the body may be restrained." —Restraint of the body. Those words clung to the back of her mind and would not let go.
She had called Minami. She had sent messages. No reply. Minami's last login remained two weeks ago. Mio had thought about Minami again and again. The look on Minami's face half a year ago, when she'd introduced Mio to Mist. The dark circles under her eyes. Her hoarse voice. "It's a really good salon." —What had been hidden behind those words?
(I have to find out.)
Mio took a deep breath and pressed the elevator button.
The doors opened. The fifth floor. A small elevator hall enclosed by white walls. A white door with frosted glass. A security camera watching quietly.
Mio stood still in front of the door for several seconds.
(Maybe I should go home.)
The thought crossed her mind. But her feet would not move. She couldn't leave a worry alone. That was her nature, and she knew it well.
She opened the door.
A soft herbal tea fragrance tickled her nose. That sweet scent—chamomile mixed with citrus. The interior was utterly silent, the air so clear it seemed to deny the mixed-use building outside. The beige sofa in the waiting area, the well-worn women's magazines, the houseplants spaced at even intervals. Everything was exactly as it had been last time.
"Welcome, Aoyama-sama."
A voice came from behind the reception desk.
It was Sawa. Black hair gathered low at the nape of her neck in a single bun. Not a single stray strand. Behind thin-framed glasses, her dark eyes held a light that smiled without smiling. Her lips curved in a beautiful arc. In her left hand, the usual tablet-style record device.
"Today is your fifth visit, just as scheduled. We've been waiting for you."
Sawa's voice was soft, carrying a sense of reassurance, as if she were being welcomed by an older cousin. But something in those words caught at Mio, just slightly.
(The fifth time. Yes, today is the fifth.)
Mio looked at Sawa's face. A smile. A perfect smile. But something seemed to lurk behind those eyes, and Mio found herself unconsciously taking a step back.
"Um, Sawa-san. Is Minami-san here today? She's a former colleague—the one who introduced me to this place."
Mio asked, summoning her courage.
Sawa's smile stopped—just for an instant.
Or so it seemed. But the next moment, it had returned to its usual perfection.
"Minami-sama? Ah, Minami-sama hasn't... been coming for a little while now. Is something the matter?"
Sawa answered smoothly, sliding her finger across the record device. Her finger movements were as quick and efficient as ever.
"No, I just can't reach her. I'm worried."
"I see. That is concerning. But Aoyama-sama, today is your special fifth visit. We've prepared a special course for you. Kiryu will show you the way."
With that, Sawa gestured Mio toward the back.
(A special course...)
Something pricked at Mio's chest. What Sawa had said last time. "For our fifth-visit regulars, we offer a special course." —That promise was now about to become real.
"Um, I'm fine with the regular course today..."
Mio said it quietly.
Sawa smiled brightly.
"Aoyama-sama, your reservation has already been accepted, and for fifth-visit regulars, the special course is automatically applied by our system. Please don't worry—Kiryu will take good care of you."
It was a soft pressure that allowed no argument.
Mio searched for a reason to refuse. She couldn't find one. She was weak against pushiness. Easily swept along. That was her nature, and she knew it well.
"...All right, then. Please."
Mio said it quietly and turned her feet toward the treatment room.
In the moment she left the reception desk, Mio caught a glimpse of Sawa's hands. The record device's screen glowed pale blue. At the edge of the screen, something like a list was visible. A row of names. At the very bottom, she thought she saw the characters for "Aoyama Mio."
(It's just my imagination.)
Mio told herself that and walked to the treatment room at the very back.
The treatment room door was ajar. A faint herbal scent drifted from within.
Mio slipped through the door and closed it behind her.
Click.
The sound of the auto-lock echoed through the quiet room.
Mio started and turned around.
She put her hand on the doorknob. It wouldn't turn.
(Huh?)
Mio tried the knob again. Still wouldn't turn.
"Your change of clothes is prepared in the locker over there."
A voice spoke, and Mio's shoulders jerked.
At the back of the treatment room, beside the treatment table, Kiryu stood.
Short, neatly trimmed black hair. The bangs cut in a straight line above the eyebrows. Narrow, elongated eyes. Dark brown pupils that barely reflected light. Clad in a thin, unbleached treatment garment, watching her with an expressionless face. His hands were always clean, his nails short and perfectly groomed. A thin old scar ran across the back of his right hand.
Kiryu was the same as always. Expressionless, detached, unreadable.
"Um, the door..."
Mio pointed at the doorknob.
"During treatment, we lock the door for soundproofing and safety. Please understand."
Kiryu spoke flatly, as if cutting off her words.
"For safety...?"
Mio repeated the words.
(For safety. Whose safety?)
Deep in Mio's chest, unease swelled slowly. But Kiryu's demeanor was so calm that she could say nothing more.
"Now, please change. The treatment garment is in the locker. Once you've changed, lie down on the table and wait."
With that, Kiryu stood before the wall-mounted terminal.
Mio opened the locker. A thin, unbleached treatment garment lay neatly folded inside.
She changed quickly. She removed her white T-shirt and black leggings and slipped her arms into the treatment garment. The fabric was soft, clinging to her skin.
Once changed, Mio stood before the treatment table.
At first glance, it was an ordinary relaxation bed. A white sheet was spread over it, a pillow placed on top. But to Mio, the table looked far colder and harder than it had before.
(It's fine. Just an esthetic treatment. Just a treatment.)
Mio told herself that and lay down on the table.
She lay on her back. The ceiling light stabbed white into her eyes.
"Now, we will begin the special course."
Kiryu's voice descended from above her head.
That was when it happened.
A cold metallic sensation ran across her lower back.
"What—"
The words escaped her before she could stop them.
She looked. From the surface of the treatment table, silver belts emerged without a sound, securing her waist.
"W-what is this?"
Mio tried to sit up. But her body wouldn't move.
A cold metallic sensation at both wrists, too.
Her hands were being secured to either side of the table by belts.
"Hey, take this off."
Mio's voice trembled.
Kiryu didn't react. He was entering Mio's customer number into the wall-mounted terminal. Expressionless, methodical.
"Kiryu-san, please, take this off."
Mio spoke again, more forcefully.
"In the special course, we perform body restraint. You have agreed to this in the contract, so please rest assured."
Kiryu spoke without turning toward her.
The contract. Article Seven. Restraint of the body.
The clause came back to Mio with perfect clarity.
"No, take it off... I never agreed to this...!"
Mio thrashed her arms and legs. But the restraints didn't budge. The belts bit into her skin.
"Now, we begin."
Ignoring her reaction, Kiryu stood beside the table.
An expressionless face. Dark eyes that reflected no light.
Kiryu's hand touched Mio's side.
"Aha ha...! H-hey...!"
Laughter spilled from Mio's mouth.
Kiryu's fingers crawled slowly across the soft flesh of her side.
"Aha ha ha ha! S-stop... aha ha!"
Mio twisted her body. But the restraints pinned her to the table. No escape.
Kiryu's fingers didn't stop.
From her side to between her ribs. From between her ribs to the hollow of her hip bone.
"Aha ha ha ha ha! I-I can't... aha ha... I can't...!"
Mio apologized while laughing. When she was cornered, laughing and apologizing—"I can't...!"—was her habit.
But Kiryu pretended not to hear.
His fingers traced circles in the hollow of her hip.
"Hyah... aha ha ha! Not there... aha ha ha!"
Mio's laughter echoed through the treatment room.
Kiryu kept moving his fingers, observing her reactions.
(This person is watching my reactions.)
Mio thought it between waves of laughter.
Kiryu's eyes were on her face. No—past her face, on her reaction data. That was the look in his eyes.
"Aha ha ha ha... I-I can't... aha..."
Her breathing grew shallow.
She'd laughed too much. She couldn't inhale.
Kiryu's fingers moved to the spaces between her toes.
"Hyah! Aha ha ha ha! Really, stop there... aha ha ha!"
Mio kicked her legs. But her ankles were restrained too. Only her fingertips could move.
Kiryu's fingers stimulated the spaces between her toes, one by one, meticulously.
"Aha ha ha ha ha! No! Aha ha... I-I can't breathe...!"
Tears spilled from Mio's eyes.
She'd laughed too much. She couldn't breathe. Her lungs wheezed, gasping for air.
"You may breathe freely."
Kiryu said flatly.
(Freely...?)
At those words, something rose in Mio—an emotion somewhere between anger and sorrow.
(How can I breathe freely...!)
Mio gritted her teeth. But the next moment, laughter surged up again.
"Aha ha ha ha...! Hah... hah... aha ha..."
Between laughter and suffocation, Mio's consciousness wavered.
Sweat plastered her hair to her face. Tears blurred her vision.
Kiryu's fingers moved to her armpits.
"Hyahhh! Aha ha ha ha ha! S-stop... aha ha ha!"
Mio could no longer form coherent words.
Laughter and screams mingled, and the back of her throat burned.
Kiryu's fingers stimulated the hollows of her armpits—slowly, but inexorably.
"Aha ha ha ha ha ha! N-no... aha... p-please..."
Mio begged through her tears.
But Kiryu's hand didn't stop.
To her neck.
Kiryu's fingers traced softly along the nape of her neck.
"Hih...! Aha ha... really, there... aha ha ha!"
Mio shook her head. But Kiryu's fingers slid slowly down from her neck to her collarbone.
(No... not anymore...)
Mio's consciousness grew distant.
She'd laughed too much. She couldn't breathe. Not enough oxygen. Her head grew hazy.
(Will I pass out like this?)
Mio wondered vaguely.
(Or will I laugh myself to death?)
The absurd thought crossed her mind.
But that was when it happened.
"Aoyama-sama, please rest assured."
Sawa's voice flowed from the speaker.
"You have agreed to the contract, so everything is part of the treatment. Please relax."
Sawa's voice was as soft and warm as ever.
But to Mio, it felt cold as ice.
(The contract...)
Mio murmured in a hoarse voice.
"Th-the contract...?"
Mio desperately tried to recall the clauses of the document she'd signed on her first visit.
Article Seven. Restraint of the body.
Article Eleven. Regarding the results of treatment, this salon bears no responsibility whatsoever.
(I signed that without reading anything.)
Regret spread dark and heavy through Mio's chest.
"Aha ha ha ha...!"
Kiryu's fingers returned to her side.
Mio was made to laugh again.
But in that moment, Mio noticed something.
(This person doesn't attack the same spot consecutively.)
After stimulating her side, Kiryu's fingers always moved to a different place. And then to another.
(Three seconds...)
In the instant
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